Lord Protector
by tielan
Summary: Arthur protects Gwen in what small ways he can. ArthurGwen UST


**Lord Protector **

As Uthyr put it, Sir Torstan is young and brash and could do with some responsibility and guidance. As Morgana puts it while working on her knotting-- uh, _embroidery_ this afternoon, Torstan of Feldspar would make a troll cry with little effort.

Still, the Lord of Feldspar is a nobly-born guest, his son is now knighted of Camelot, and Arthur is a prince of Camelot. Which requires him to spend the evening in the lout's company and has him resolved to put the twerp in the front line of whichever magical beast next turns up at the gates with murder and mayhem on its monster mind.

"Think of the grip you could get on that arse," Torstan says of Lady Briantha of Sopley.

Arthur has never really considered Lady Briantha's arse, let alone the grip he could get on it. Something in him shudders at the thought of wedding and bedding Briantha, who has never had an original thought in her head, no matter how pretty her face or how impressive her dowry.

"Good tits, that one," is Torstan's pronouncement of Lady Silda of Hentworst, whose bust is, indeed, impressive, and dramatically framed by the neckline of her gown.

Arthur might have noticed, but he'd never say as much. He takes another swig of wine and wonders if he could persuade Merlin to spill some on Torstan the next time his manservant comes by with the pitcher.

Morgana walks by with a regal nod and a glint of what might be amusement in her expression as she looks at Arthur's sorry state - immured with the new idiot knight.

It takes Arthur a moment to realise the other man has said something. His eyes met Guinevere's briefly before she tore them away and followed after Morgana, but the world faded around him for that instant. "I'm sorry?"

"Stone cold sober, that one," Torstan says, jerking his head after the two women.

"She doesn't drink heavily."

And Guinevere's not allowed to drink at these events at all. Arthur wonders what she's like when her guard's down; when she's not wary and aware that he's the Prince and she's 'just' a servant. He wonders if he'll ever get to see it .

He wonders if Lancelot already has.

"No," Torstan is saying with the patient exasperation of someone who's already a good deal tipsy. "I mean, I'd do her stone cold sober."

Oh, now _this_, Arthur can answer. "Other than the insult you've just given my foster-sister, you'd be lucky to get anywhere near Morgana with your trousers down before she gutted you. And that's _after_ I got through with you on the practise field."

Wine sprays everywhere as Torstan chokes, and Arthur signals Merlin to come over and thump the man on the back. He's not going to touch this toad of an idiot if he can possibly help it.

"Not your sister," Torstan manages as Merlin pats him on the back. Well, for Merlin, they're probably thumps, but to Torstan, they're little pats. "The maid."

Which isn't any better.

One hand pauses over Torstan's shoulder blades. Merlin's brows are up and his mouth is in an 'oh' of astonishment as his brain fills in the blanks and for once, comes up with the correct answer. He looks to Arthur in inquiry.

Arthur nods at his manservant. Permission granted. The next blow is most definitely a thump, and delivered with enough force to set Torstan choking again.

He waits until Torstan has his breath back; politely, courteously, and with absolute control over the desire to throttle this miserable excuse for manhood. Then he slings his arm around Torstan's shoulder.

"Sir Torstan?"

"Sire?"

"Touch the Lady Guinevere - or any of the other servants in the palace - and I will personally see to it that you get the worst possible assignments available to a knight of Camelot."

"The wor--" Torstan stares at him, abruptly. "Over a servant?"

"Over someone who is employed to do her job, not warm your bed." Or to be molested by a 'knight' who thinks that the sum and total of a woman is her breasts and arse.

The mean little eyes grow calculating. "She's that good, sire?"

Arthur'll be damned if he'll let this prick spread the rumour that he's bedding Guinevere. "I wouldn't know. What I do know is that if I hear that you've been harassing the servants or spreading rumours about any of them, you won't be a knight very long. Do we understand each other?"

He sees the war waged on the man's face; the cunning smirk giving way to dismay and anger as he realises Arthur means every word he says. Arthur _will_ be hell on Torstan if he finds out Torstan's been spreading rumours. And Arthur can be a _lot _of hell - as Merlin knows. "Yes, sire."

"Good man." Arthur claps him on the shoulder and stands. "Merlin, fill Sir Torstan's cup for him, then attend me. I'm going to find father."

A few moments later, Merlin catches up to him in the press and play of Camelot's nobility. "So, was that as satisfying as it looked?"

He turns his head enough to see the manservant in the corner of his eye - and, incidentally, catch Guinevere's gaze as it drifts across the room. Maybe Lancelot was there to protect her from Hengist and Arthur came late, but there are other dangers that only Arthur can protect her from - and will, whether she knows it or cares.

A smile warms his face. "You have no idea."

- **fin** -


End file.
